


what is a legacy

by laurelcastillos



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelcastillos/pseuds/laurelcastillos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hamilton but a modern theatre au. i promise the fanfic is way better than this lame summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what is a legacy

It’s just about five in the morning when Eliza stumbles out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom, bleary-eyed and barely awake, to find her husband bent over his Macbook, his glasses crooked as he madly types away.

“Jesus Christ, Alex,” she laughs, rubbing at her weary eyes and pulling off her light blue tank top in exchange for a black bra and a sensible navy-blue blouse. It’s the first day of school, and most of her new kindergarteners will be coming in with their parents, and she does, admittedly, want to look good on her first day back. “How long have you been up writing?”

For a moment, he doesn’t reply, his typing still loud and consistent, and she clears her throat loudly, tying her freshly blow-dried hair up into a loose bun. “Um, honey? I asked you a question.” 

“What? Sorry.” He looks up at her and gives her that goofy smile of his, and her heart melts just a little bit, even though she’s still irritated at him for ignoring her. “I’ve been up all night.”

Her pearl necklace slips out of her hands and onto the hardwood floor. “ _ Alex _ ,” she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re not getting bad again, are you? I thought we handled this. I thought you were getting better.” He’s always been like this, so erratic, hyped-up and exuberant one minute and then miserable and moody and distant the next, and he’s been going to therapy for two years for it now. She thought he was getting better, she really did, but it turns out he’s been getting even worse than before – he’s just better at hiding it now, that’s all. 

Alex gives her a chagrined sigh and looks up at her with a now saddened smile, as if she couldn’t possibly understand his creative process or whatever shit’s got him up until the wee hours of the morning, writing until his hands are in so much pain and his head is pounding so intensely that he can’t write anymore and finally crashes. “Babe, I don’t have to be at the theater until five tonight. I’ll go to bed in an hour.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Fine, but I don’t have to leave for another hour and a half, so, by the time I leave this house, your ass better be snuggled up in that bed, fast asleep.” He laughs at that, and even she gives a small smile. 

“Peggy’s coming over in an hour to make breakfast for the kids,” she informs him, pulling on her black Louboutins  – a gift from her father for her thirtieth birthday a few months ago. Her younger sister has always been a better cook than her, and she’s grateful that she was up to getting up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for her niece and nephew. She doesn’t know what she would do without her sisters.

“Awesome,” he says, actually tearing himself away from his precious play, his magnum opus, his masterpiece, to walk over to her and press a kiss to her pale temple. “You’re gonna be great today, Eliza. You’re going to blow them all away.”

Eliza blushes and mumbles, “They’re five-year-olds; they’re very easy to impress,” but still her heart is warmed by his kind words and by the fact that he actually  _ remembers,  _ that he  _ cares  _ enough to say something to her about it. “How’s the show going, Alex?”

Dumb question, really. By his constant phone calls with Washington, with Burr, with Laurens and Mulligan and Lafayette, she knows that he’s trying to squeeze in a third act in an already lengthy show two weeks before the show opens, and, although Eliza doesn’t know much about theatre, she’s intelligent enough to realize how much of a stupid move that is. He sighs and responds, “It’s going alright. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the cast is great, everyone’s great, but I think Burr’s about to kill me. I just told him that I’m adding a third act to the show, and he didn’t take it well.”

“Well, how long have you been working on the third act, honey?” she says mildly, her surface calm masking the anger boiling beneath her skin. “Maybe you should have told him a while ago.”

“Two months,” he responds, and she could slap him – she really could. “But I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it in the show or scrap it.”

“Well, don’t you think two weeks to memorize all those lines and figure out all the stage directions, and, you know, all that other theatre stuff, is a bit short?” She raises an eyebrow, retrieving her pearl necklace from the floor that it had fallen to a few minutes prior and putting it on. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Alex. It’s your decision, but I just think waiting until the last minute to tell everyone of a change this major is a bit unwise.” 

He’s silent for a few moments, and then his shoulders slump. “You’re right. You’re always right, Eliza.” He presses a kiss to her rosy cheek and squeezes her shoulder gently. “I’m gonna do some finishing touches on the play. Could you go wake the kids up?” Phillip and Angelica go to a swanky private school in Manhattan, one that has an incredibly expensive tuition that Eliza’s father is footing the bill for and is full of white kids and happens to have a bus that arrives at six thirty in the morning, an hour that, in Eliza’s opinion, is far too early for such young children to have to wake up. Still, she nods, allowing him to return to his work and heading first to Phillip’s room. Phillip is recently nine and is starting fourth grade today – she can hardly even believe it, how big he’s getting. He’s so similar to his father, so ambitious and intelligent and persistent, that it’s almost eerie. 

She knocks on the door and calls out in her sweetest, softest voice, “Phillip, sweetie? It’s time to get up.” She can faintly hear him stirring in bed through the closed door, kicking off his heavy covers and getting up with a sigh. “Aunt Peggy’s gonna make breakfast for you and Angie. How does that sound?”

Phillip yawns and then responds with a decisive, “Good.” She smiles and hurries off to Angelica’s bedroom, pulling open her door just a crack and then slipping into the bedroom, sitting across from her sleeping daughter’s form. While Angelica takes after her namesake in terms of demeanor, she certainly took after Eliza in appearance, from the dark and smooth hair to the soft, fair skin to the small nose and faintly freckled cheeks. Glancing down at her daughter, Eliza smiles and brushes a stray strand of hair out of the sleeping girl’s eyes. 

With a tiny, adorable yawn, Angelica woke up. “Huh?” she mumbled, sitting up and holding tight to her fluffy brown teddy bear. “Mommy? It’s so early. I wanna go back to bed.”

Eliza pulled her daughter close, giving her a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I know, honey, but you have to go to school. You can rest and relax right after you finish your homework when you get home. I promise you, baby.”

Angelica lets out a resigned sigh that makes her sound far older than her mere seven years and pushes off her pale blue blankets, heading over to her dresser to grab her uniform, which consists of a navy-blue skirt and a white polo shirt.

“Aunt Peggy’s coming over in a little while to make you and Phillip breakfast,” Eliza tells her, and Angelica beams, putting on her little Mary-Jane shoes and knee socks. Eliza returns her daughter’s grin and grabs a sparkly purple hairbrush from the top of the dresser, running it through Angelica’s thick, black hair gently, working out all the knots as slowly and painlessly as she can. When her hair is all brushed out, she braids it, tying off the braid with a dark blue hair tie that matches Angelica’s uniform skirt.

“You’re gonna have so much fun today, baby,” she says brightly, kneeling down to give her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Fourth grade is the best.”

“Okay, Mommy. I hope it’s fun,” she says doubtfully, and Eliza laughs, grabbing her hand. “C’mon, let’s go downstairs, Angie.”

The two of them head downstairs together, hand-in-hand, where Phillip is perched on the couch, the second Harry Potter book open in his lap as he reads it intently, lost in the book until his little sister climbs up beside him and whispers, “Can you read it to me, Phillip?”

Eliza almost wants to whip out her phone and film this moment as her son reads the book in a bright, clear voice to Angelica, the two of them nestled together like little bunnies. It’s the cutest thing she’s seen in quite a while.

She tears herself away from her children and walks into the kitchen, taking her Louis Vuitton purse off the counter and searching through it to make sure she has everything she needs for today. Her cell phone, along with a portable charger, are at the bottom of the bag, and she takes it out to charge it for a few minutes before she leaves. Her wallet and house and car keys and her lesson plans are also in the bag, and she pushes them aside, making sure she has enough picture books with her –  the school does provide a few books, but she wanted to bring a few of her personal favorites with her. She also has tissues in the case that any children – or overly attached parents, she’s seen it happen before – start crying at any point. She’s also packed wipes, crayons, and a water bottle that she intends to fill up within the next few minutes.

Once she’s satisfied that she has everything she needs, she sets her bag aside, just in time for Peggy to knock on the door. A smile lighting up her face, she pulls open the door to see her little sister standing before her, looking as adorable as she usually does in her flannel shirt and skinny jeans, her dark hair natural and pulled up into precious little pigtails.

“You look adorable, Pegs,” Eliza exclaims, wrapping her arms around Peggy and hugging her tight. “And I love your hair.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you fancy teacher lady,” Peggy laughs, resting her head against her sister’s shoulder briefly before she pulls away. “What do the kids want for breakfast?”

Eliza runs a hand through her dark, thick hair and bites her lower lip anxiously. “Um, I was kinda thinking you could just decide. I didn’t really ask them.”

Peggy laughs, pulling out some bowls and spoons. “Fine by me. What about pancakes and scrambled eggs?”

Eliza nods approvingly. “That sounds good. And Alex loves pancakes, so you might actually manage to tear him away from his precious play for a whole twenty minutes.” Her tone is laced with barely concealed fury, and she’s white-knuckling the counter.

Peggy raises an eyebrow, grabbing some pancake mix, eggs, and a package of M&Ms from one of the cupboards. “How’s that play of his going along, anyway? Angie, the star herself, hasn’t spoken about it much.”

Eliza loosens her grip on the counter and sighs. “I don’t know. He’s talented, always has been, but he also hasn’t slept in what feels like years.” She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I miss the husband who was actually present in my life. He’s added a whole new act into the show two weeks before opening, and everyone’s losing their shit on him. I mean, rightfully so, but he’s visibly stressed, even though he’d never dare admit it.” 

“Just pop some Nyquil pills into his next cup of coffee. He’ll be out like a light in ten minutes,” Peggy advises with a mischievous grin, pouring a generous amount of M&Ms into the pancake mix. Eliza puts her hands on her hips and questions, “Are you attempting to make my children crash after a sugar high ten minutes into their first day of school?”

Peggy giggles and rolls her eyes. “C’mon, don’t be one of  _ those _ moms, Eliza.” She adopts a high-pitched, nasally voice and says, “ _ My Johnny can’t have sugar in the mornings. It’s simply not healthy.”  _ Eliza doesn’t want to laugh, but she does, and Peggy grins, returning to the task of making breakfast for the dysfunctional Hamilton clan. 

“I’ve never been one of those moms,” Eliza insists. “I’m not making them eat gluten-free shit or anything.” She glances over her shoulder to make sure that neither of her children have heard her swear, but, thankfully, they’re both still engrossed in their book. “I’m a cool mom.”

Peggy smiles lovingly. “I know you are.” They both fall silent as Alex comes trudging down the stairs, now clad in a green t-shirt and jeans instead of his pajamas. His glasses are still crooked, and his laptop is held in his arms like it’s his baby.

“Alex!” Peggy greets cheerfully, waving to him. “Good to see you! Do you want pancakes? I’m making them right now.”

Alex yawns and mumbles something that sounds like, “I love pancakes,” before he takes a seat at the kitchen table and crashes, his head dropping to the mahogany wood with a sickening thump. He’s out like a light within seconds, snoring loudly, and Eliza massages his tense shoulders, enlisting Peggy to move his computer out of sight so he can’t return to his play the second he wakes up.

“We should move him to the couch. He’s going to get a really bad kink if his neck if he keeps on sleeping like this,” Eliza decides, and the two of them haul Alex over to the couch. He’s slim and on the shorter side, so it’s not too hard, but he’s still a fully grown adult, and it takes a bit longer than Eliza would like to admit for the two of them to drag him off to the living room.

Eliza fluffs his pillow and looks down at him, so peaceful and calm when he’s sleeping, so different from the hurricane of a man that he is when he’s awake. “Thank you, Peggy,” she says quietly, reaching over and squeezing her little sister’s shoulder gently.

Peggy grins and shakes her head. “No problem, Eliza. I’m gonna go finish cooking breakfast, okay?” When Eliza nods, she leans over and kisses her older sister on the cheek before returning to her work in the kitchen. 

Eliza sits next to her sleeping husband, watching him silently as she toys with her wedding ring. She worries about him, she really does. His therapist says he’s doing well, but she’s not sure about that. He barely sleeps, he’s working all the time, and he rarely sees his children. That’s not healthy in Eliza’s opinion. But who is she to doubt the informed opinion of an esteemed psychologist with several degrees, all of them from elite institutions? No one. She’s just a little kindergarten teacher, at least in the world’s eyes. Alexander Hamilton’s little wife, the sweet and docile and pretty woman without a mean bone in her body. They don’t know any of the cruel things Eliza has shouted at her husband, things that she lies awake at night thinking about. They don’t know how violently jealous she can get, like when she found pictures of her husband and that John Laurens together, their arms around each other and the two of them looking so in love with each other that she can hardly stand it. They don’t know how passive-aggressive she is, hanging around the theater with a fake smile on her face, asking the harried stagehands over and over again when they think her husband’s going to be heading home for the night. No, all they see is the lovely, kind wife of an up-and-coming young playwright.

Letting her dark hair fall over her face, she hardly notices it when Peggy calls from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready!” Alex wakes up with a startled look on his face, rubbing at his eyes and looking around the room desperately, probably for his precious laptop, and Eliza bites back a scream. “Babe, Peggy made M&M pancakes. Your favorite.”

“Where’s my laptop?” he demands, like he didn’t even hear what she said.

“You need to eat, Alex,” she says, her voice calm as she stands, taking her two children by the hand and leading them into the kitchen. “Human beings can’t survive on Doritos and black coffee alone.”

Alex finally comes into the kitchen, and Eliza presses an ice-cold glass of water into his hands with a benevolent smile. “Babe, you should drink some water. You’ll feel so much better.”

“Where’s the coffee?” Alex snaps, looking about the room with wide, confused eyes. “Eliza, I need coffee.”

“You’ll survive without it.” Eliza pats him on the shoulders and sits in between her children, putting some salt and pepper on her scrambled eggs before taking a big bite of it. “Oh my God, Peggy, this is so good. I don’t know how you do it.”

Although Alex looks a bit dejected without his morning coffee, he does compliment Peggy on the M&M pancakes, which is a win as far as Eliza is concerned. Soon enough, they’ve finished their breakfast, and it’s off to the bus stop for Angelica and Phillip, a job Peggy volunteers to take, much to the relief of Eliza. She needs to fix her makeup before she heads up to school.

Before her children head out to the bus stop, she gives both of them long hugs and kisses. “I love you both so much. You’re going to have so much fun. Make me proud, okay? Have an awesome day, both of you.” She watches fondly as Peggy takes them by the hand, leading them out to the bus stop at the end of the block.

“Where did Peggy hide my computer?” Alex questions her, anger evident in his dark brown eyes.

Eliza plays at obliviousness, as if she doesn’t know where it could possibly be. “Honey, I really don’t know. But, besides, didn’t you say you were going to sleep sometime soon?”

“I just slept,” he points out, but Eliza shakes her head. “That was barely twenty minutes, Alex. You need to get some real sleep.” She puts her arms around his tense frame, and he finally relents and relaxes in her arms after a few moments. “I’m heading to work in a few minutes, but I won’t be able to concentrate at work if I know you’re walking around like a zombie, not having slept in days. Go up to bed, okay?”

Alex sighs but obediently heads up the stairs and nestles his head amongst the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut. She smiles and leans over his frame, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you so much, Alex. See you soon.”

She thinks he’s sleeping, but he murmurs in the kindest voice she’s heard him use all day, “Good luck, babe. Go knock ‘em dead.”

Eliza smiles down at him. “I’ll try.”


End file.
